


In the Wild

by Raufnir



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Rating to be updated, adopted daughter ciri, ex-police officer geralt, ex-special forces iorveth, for ciri, geralt isn't a witcher, no magic, past trauma, yen and geralt are divorced but still on good (ish) terms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:34:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raufnir/pseuds/Raufnir
Summary: Geralt and Ciri make a point to do something adventurous every year during her school holidays. Last year was sea-kayaking, and this year it's hiking. Their guide for the trail? A closed off, grumpy, scarred elf with more of a heart than he's letting on. When Ciri is collected by Yennifer after their hike, Geralt stays behind and finds himself intrigued by Iorveth...





	In the Wild

**Author's Note:**

> This idea occurred to me while on a hike in the Lake District (UK) and it wouldn’t leave me alone. So, here's the first bit. There are characters out of place, but hopefully not too out of character!

Geralt winced as his rusty red truck jounced up the potholed track to the outdoor activity centre, and Ciri grunted too.

“Bloody hell,” she laughed as the truck made a particularly heavy lurch, though Geralt steered it easily enough. His spine complained, but he was able to ignore that by now. Their backpacks and supplies slid around in the covered bed of the truck, and an empty water bottle rolled across the floor by her feet. 

“Language, kiddo,” he grinned and the twelve year old poked her tongue out at him and returned to staring out the window at the misty landscape beyond as it bounced past. 

“Did elves really used to live in up here?” she asked, and he nodded. 

“Before it became a National Park, yes. There are some ruins along one of the trails, I think.”

“I wish it wasn’t ruined,” she said quietly, tucking a strand of her ash blond hair behind her ear. 

He glanced sidelong at her and twitched his lips briefly into a half smile. “Yeah,” was all he said. 

When they eventually reached the lodge - a large building made of huge fieldstones and round logs - he parked up and slid out, stretching and grunting. The injuries that had nearly killed him a year ago still ached, but everyone agreed that it was practically a miracle that he was even still alive, let alone had regained most of his former fitness. 

“Geralt?” Ciri murmured, looking up at the lodge. 

“Mm?” 

“Look,” and she had scampered off to the huge map which was mounted on a board just at the foot of the stairs that led into the main building. A cafe and a shack selling equipment was just across the gravel car park, and Geralt clocked those before following Ciri over to the map of the area. 

“Which one are we doing first?” she asked, her eyes wide, fingertip tracing the rain-spattered surface as she ran it along the line of a green trail up into the mountains. “Shae…Shaerrawedd…” she frowned as she came to a spot on the map. 

“Those are the ruins I mentioned,” Geralt said quietly, jumping suddenly as he noticed someone stalking up behind him, heading for the main lodge. His instincts would always be there, honed and sharp, even though he was technically retired now.

The figure was an elf, tall and rangy, with a fitted, dark green jacket on which had a number of different patches and symbols on the sleeves, and over his head and the right hand side of his face was a blood red bandana, covering his right eye. Ciri stared openly at him, but Geralt cuffed her playfully up the back of her head and jerked his chin towards the lodge. “Come on, you,” he said. “Let’s get registered.”

The area was wild, and most of the harder trails required a guide, so Geralt had booked one in advance. He and Ciri had formed a tradition of sorts in the two years that she’d been in his care, heading off into the wilderness and doing something adventurous in her school holidays, and while last year they’d gone sea kayaking, this year it was camping and hiking. 

The elf ignored them completely and strode to the lodge, nodding politely at another elf who was standing in the doorway of the cafe, swaying ever so slightly. He raised his hand at Geralt and Ciri, and the girl waved back while Geralt merely inclined his head. 

Inside, they registered with a surly dwarf, who told them that their guide for their three day hike would be Iorveth. “Elven name,” Geralt commented. “Right?”

“Yup,” the dwarf grunted, filling out his end of the paperwork that Geralt had just handed back to him. “’Bout as elfy as they get, that one. Hope you two are fit, because he’s pretty relentless.”

Ciri proudly chimed in that she and Geralt ran cross-country together three times a week, and that he was teaching her a number of martial arts. “I’m about to get my red belt in Taekwondo.”

The dwarf’s thick, ginger eyebrows rose and he nodded. “I should think you two will be alright then,” he grinned. “Iorveth usually likes to get going pretty smartish, so grab your gear and meet him at the trail head at ten sharp. If you’re missing anything, you can drop by Cedric’s, or you can purchase a few trail snacks too.”

“I think we’ve got everything,” Geralt said, glancing at his watch. “Come on, little cub,” he said to Ciri. “We’ve just got time. Let’s get going.”

She bounded out of the door and shot back to the car, bouncing on the balls of her feet and yelling at Geralt to open it up. 

Still chuckling, he rubbed the stubble along his jaw as he fished out the key fob and unlocked it for her. Five minutes later, they were togged up in their tough boots and waterproofs, and Geralt heaved his backpack onto his shoulders while she did the same with a significantly smaller one. Geralt tied his white hair up into a ponytail to keep it out of his eyes and grunted as an old injury to his shoulder tweaked slightly. With his white hair and Ciri’s ash-blonde, the two were often assumed to be blood relations, and neither particularly bothered to contradict it.

“Come on, come on!” she giggled, yanking his rough, scarred hand and tugging him towards the trail head. They passed the toilets, and she darted inside, knowing that this would be her last opportunity for a ‘civilised’ visit for three days, and Geralt trudged up towards where the elf with the red bandana was waiting, perhaps a hundred yards further up the slope. 

“Iorveth?” he called as he approached, and the elf turned. 

Grim-faced, he didn’t smile. “You must be Geralt. Where’s the girl?” he asked. 

“Ciri’s on her way,” he said, trying not to take an instant dislike to him. 

Iorveth had a lightweight pack on his shoulders and carried no hiking poles, and his boots looked battered but still good. Again, Geralt took in the bandana that covered one eye and was folded down over his hair. It didn’t conceal the huge scar that ran from the corner of his mouth, zig-zagging up his cheek in an angry, red lightning fork, and disappearing under the fabric. Geralt had seen plenty of grizzly injuries in his line of work, but that was no accident. Someone had done that to him. He fought off a shudder, and turned at the clatter of hurried footsteps over the gravel. 

Ciri joined them a second later, and stuck out her hand to Iorveth with a toothy grin. “Hi,” she yipped. “Sorry. I’m Ciri.”

“Iorveth,” he grunted, and he surprised Geralt by actually shaking her hand, a tiny smile just softening the left corner of his mouth. His bright green eye took in her well-worn boots and he said, “What kind of hiking do you two usually do?”

She glanced up at Geralt before answering. “We normally do stuff like fell running, but last Beltane we hiked up through the Blue Mountains and stayed in these old bothies and stuff. It was really cool.”

Iorveth nodded. “Let’s get going then.”

Ciri shot Geralt a pouty look, clearly disappointed that the elf was apparently so unimpressed with her story, but she set her jaw and started to hike up behind Geralt as they made their way up the gritty path into the ferns and bracken, and then into the pines and oaks beyond. 

“You must do this trail pretty often then,” Geralt said by way of striking up a conversation with the taciturn elf, and he was met with a shrug. 

“Often enough that I don’t need a map out.”

Ciri, who hadn’t really had time to look at the route, chimed in with, “Will we go past the ruins at Shaerrawedd on this one?”

The toe of Iorveth’s boot caught on a root at that, but while he didn’t trip, Geralt still noticed it. 

“You’re interested in history then?” he asked, half turning to look over his shoulder at her. 

She nodded. “I’ve been studying the Elder Speech with Geralt and Yennifer, and at bording school they make me write home in the Elder Speech too. We’re learning all about the history of your people too.”

“I hope they’re teaching you what your people did to us,” he snarled. 

“Yeah,” she said dejectedly. “Well, kind of. Mostly I have to ask Geralt and Yen about that though.”

Iorveth muttered, “At least she’s learning it from somewhere, even if it is from another dh’oine…”

Ciri looked honestly a bit crushed by their guide’s curtness, but Geralt shook his head and patted the crown of hers affectionately. They’d met surlier folk, and they were here to hike, not chat. 

Most of that first morning was spent huffing up a steep climb to a windy ridge which overlooked the valley below. Iorveth didn’t seem to sweat a drop as he climbed, but Gearalt’s brow was soon beaded with perspiration, making his pure white hair stick a little. He was grateful for the undercut which Triss had encouraged him to get, since it kept the back of his neck cool. 

They stopped on the ridge to admire the view, and Ciri took a couple of photos on her phone while Iorveth kept himself at a bit of a distance from the pair. Geralt couldn’t help noticing, however, that the elf stared at the pair of them when he thought he was unobserved, as though trying to work out just what kind of relationship they had. It wasn’t uncommon, especially since they had one or two features - like the white and ash-blonde hair - in common, but the fact that Ciri called him by his first name was odd by many folks’ standards. 

‘Let him stew on it,’ Geralt mused to himself. ‘The smug bastard.’

“Geralt! Look!” Ciri crowed, pointing up into the sky.

He stepped over and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to follow her gaze by half-crouching. It made his knees creak and he straightened again. “What is it?”

“A bearded vulture!” She grinned up at him and said, “Remember when we saw those ones in the Blue Mountains, near Kaer Morhen?” 

He nodded and ruffled her hair, earning himself an angry tirade like a hissing cat while she retied her short hair into a ponytail and he laughed softly. Acquiring a daughter two years ago had not been something he’d ever imagined for himself, but his little ‘child of chance’ as he liked to call her had been life-enhancing in every way. He would do anything for this brave little scrap. 

Iorveth glanced up and said, “You trained at Kaer Morhen?”

“What gave it away?” Geralt asked with a lopsided grin, looking over at the elf who had gone alertly stiff. 

“Only folks who’ve trained there have access to the land,” he said. He looked Geralt up and down and said, “You’re ex-military.” It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “And more recently, ex-police. You?”

“Ex-military,” he said. “Special forces.”

Geralt nodded his impressed respect and then glanced around and grinned. “Bit more peaceful out here, eh?”

That earned him a grudgingly-amused smirk. “You two ready to move on? We’ve got a good fifteen miles to go before we make camp.”

Iorveth seemed to feel perhaps a smidgen differently towards Geralt after that, but only grudgingly, if anything, and Geralt and Ciri kept to themselves while Iorveth moved up the trail ahead of them. The woods were dense but eventually they emerged out onto the wind-blasted moorland at the top, and Iorveth advised them to keep very much to the path behind him. 

Ciri grinning, adopted the crooked posture of a creature from a popular fantasy film and cackled, “Don’t follow the lights!” in imitation of the character’s voice, which earned a hearty little chuckle from Geralt, and no reaction whatsoever from Iorveth. 

By the time they were approaching the last two miles of their hike, Ciri had finally fallen into grim silence. She was exhausted, but the lass never complained. Even Iorveth had slowed a little, but Geralt maintained his steady pace beside his daughter until they reached the stone hut on the edge of the moor on the other side of the mountains that would be their camp for the night. 

“Nice one, cub,” Geralt grinned as Ciri unlaced her boots and dumped her rucksack on the ground outside the bothy. “You did really well. That was a hard slog.” 

She grinned wordlessly at him and shuffled over to make room for him. The stone bench made the perfect spot for removing boots, and he eased himself down beside her with a grunt and took a moment to catch his breath. He’d been in physical rehab since the injury for months after it happened, and had thrown himself into recovering, but a long hike like that - pushing seventeen or eighteen miles, with some serious ascent in places - had taken the starch out of him. 

Iorveth had vanished inside the simple stone hut and a moment later Geralt smelled woodsmoke and saw it coiling invitingly up through the chimney stack and into the dusk light. 

Ciri yawned and Geralt picked her bag up as she paddled in her walking socks into the simple two-roomed bothy. “Here,” he said and handed her the bag as she made to lie down on one of the wooden cots in the corner. Iorveth, he saw, was fishing out some provisions from his own bag and laying them around the campfire. 

Ciri took her pack off him and smiled. 

“I’ll sort you some food. You get set up.”

He eased himself down beside the fire that Iorveth had kindled in the grate, and unexpectedly met the elf’s single green eye as he glanced up. 

“You and Ciri kept up surprisingly well today,” Iorveth said. 

“Thanks?” Geralt laughed. “It’s not our first time out in the woods, you know?”

Iorveth graced him with a truly stunning, if lopsided, grin, and said, “I can tell. Most folks trail a long way behind me.”

“So you were testing us when you darted off up that scree slope?” Geralt grinned. 

“Little bit,” Iorveth retorted with a shrug. 

“Well, it’ll take more than that to shake me and my little cub, you know?” Geralt said. “What’s for supper?”

“There’s a trout stream just down the valley if you forgot to bring supplies,” Iorveth quipped. 

Geralt drew out a bag of sandwiches he’d packed for their first night, waggled it at Iorveth in triumph, and then gave a short whistle to attract Ciri’s attention. 

“Mm?”

“Grub’s up,” he smiled, and tossed her foil-wrapped bag at her. She caught it deftly and tucked in ravenously while Geralt undid his own. 

Iorveth, he noticed, had a rice-based salad. “Veggie?” he asked, and the elf nodded. 

“Most of us are.” He shot Geralt a look and added, “We don’t have canines like you dh’oine - we’re not beasts.”

Geralt snorted but made no reply. 

Ciri fell asleep not long after completing her little trail diary for the day, and Geralt admitted sleepily that he wasn’t far behind. He stood and stretched out, and while Iorveth laid out his own sleeping bag and mat by the fire, Geralt and Ciri took the two wooden cots in the little adjacent room. 

As Geralt lay back and stared at the rafters of the ceiling, he thought about their elven guide. He’d always found elves to be an attractive people, with high cheekbones and delicate bodies, but Iorveth had a strange kind of strength to him that spoke more of dwarven-forged metal than the almost bird-like delicacy of the elves. He also couldn’t help wondering if he’d earned his scars in the army, and what he looked like under that red bandana. 

The elf had set a relentless pace that day, and in truth, Geralt hurt all over and ached for a hot bath, but there was no way he would admit as much to Iorveth. He was also unspeakably proud of Ciri for keeping up and not complaining once. He glanced over at her in the dark of the room, the full moon shining in through the un-curtained windows, and smiled. She’d been through so much, and yet now she slept so peacefully. 

“Proud of you, cub,” he murmured into the darkness.


End file.
